A Brief Taste of Normality
by Sifu Soul
Summary: ...Or Something Close to it. One shots about the Titans being human... as much as that's physically possible [Fourth Quarter & Complicated Melody: A football game with our favorite heroes and a young woman does some self examination]
1. First Date

**A/N: Just a lil something I typed up, more or less to show people I'm still alive. I gotta few written shorts already, so I might as well go ahead and post 'em.**

**I've got a bunch of stuff in the works (see Bio) but I don't want to post any of it till I get a little farther in them, so I guess we'll just have to be patient, now won't we?**

**This ain't a masterpiece, but review anyway. I heart comments.**

**I don't mind taking requests for shorts, so if ya wanna swing em my way, e-mail me. I can't promise I'll write em, but I'll certainly try. They're good practice.**

A Brief Taste of Normality…

…Or Something Close to it.

First Date

"You will bring her home at ten. Preferably sooner, but not one second later. It will most definitely _not_ be 10:01. And _God help you_ if it is 10:02," the man told the slightly trembling mass of braids standing in the front door.

"Y-yes-sir-"

"Did I _say_ I was finished?!"

The boy flinched, "N-no sir!"

The man glared his cold, seemingly soul-less blue eyes into the boy in front of him. He let the boy shift around a bit more before he continued, "You may touch my daughters hand to give her a ticket after _you_ pay for it. That is the one and _ONLY _time. If I find any fingerprints on anything my daughter wears, I know where you live. You will not, and will _never,_ even briefly wonder about entertaining thoughts of possibly _considering_ placing your lips anywhere on my daughter. You will refrain from looking at my daughter. You will talk to her respectfully. All conversation will be G rated. If you go to a movie, you will pick a movie with NO sex, adult situations, or any signs of affection whatsoever. There will be a minimum of two feet between you at _all _times. You will open doors, pull out chairs, help her over puddles _provided_ that you do not touch her. You will pay for the meal. You will give her your coat _and _sweater if she is cold. You wi--**_what in the hell are those_?!?!**" the suddenly irate father yelled.

The boy looked into his pocket, pulling out the small roll of lifesavers, "They're just mints."

As soon as the boy's words left his lips, he regretted them, and he braced himself for the coming onslaught. He suddenly knew how the people felt when they saw Mount Vesuvius starting to erupt, "_MINTS?!?! **MINTS**?!?! _And just_ **what** _do you plan on using that cool, minty fresh breath for?!"

Mycal sweat dropped, "Erm...well you see-"

The father cut him off, "Hell no. You know what? I knew this was a bad idea…" he muttered reached outside Mycal's line of sight while he stood in the doorway. He grabbed a round paper bag and shoved the contents into the boy's hands, "Eat this real quick, and hurry up!"

Mycal reached into the bag, felt around, felt around and pulled out a raw onion.

_Onion breath? Ewww!_

"Uh… I'll do this last."

The father glared.

Mycal reached back into the bag and gathered a small clove. He sniffed it and immediately grimaced, "Is this _pure_ garlic?!"

"Don't ask questions!"

"_Dick Grayson!!"_

The father cringed, and the boy couldn't help but smirk a little bit. He flicked an errant braid back over his shoulder as he realized the playing field and been somewhat leveled, "Dick? That usually means you're in trouble. How is Kory anyway?"

The artist alternately known as Nightwing glared, "Nobody asked you, kid."

The door swung open a bit wider and there stood the woman in question, glaring at her significant other.

The man did a 180 shift in attitude, brightening significantly and looking at his better half lovingly, "Hey baby!" He kissed her on the cheek and beat a hasty retreat into the house, "Mycal's here." he said over a shoulder.

Mycal watched her gaze follow the man that had been training him a few hours before, thoroughly grilling him five seconds ago, and couldn't help but smile. He loved Koriand'r to death, though she insisted that he call her Kory, as she did with all of her friends' children. True, she couldn't cook worth a flip, and for a man with a stomach like his, that was normally a huge blow to a parent's cool-o-meter. Then again, he really hadn't met anyone that cooked better than his dad, so it was kind of a moot point anyway. Regardless, she was a sweet woman; incredibly cheery and she never failed to bring a smile to his face even when he was in the worst of moods. She was also no slouch in the training room, as he still hadn't come anywhere close to beating her in a sparring match, and with her strength, he was honestly a bit more worried about her than his mentor.

She fixed her face into an apologetic smile, "My deepest apologies, Mycal, please come in, I know that it must be rather cold outside." Her face shifted to one of concern, "You have not been waiting long have you?"

He chuckled, "No I'm alright, Kory, thanks. He kind of caught me by surprise."

He stepped into the much warmer climate of the house and Kori shut the door behind him, "Yes, well. Sometimes Richard is bit overbearing. I am rather surprised Mar'i is not rotten beyond hope."

Mycal raised a disturbed eyebrow.

"The term is 'spoiled,' Star," said the man in question coming down the staircase, "And she's ready for you Mycal."

Mycal grinned.

The father didn't like it. As he reached the bottom step, he put a finger in the young boy's face, an inch from the chakra stone embedded in his forehead, blocking the view of the beauty up the staircase, "And wipe that smirk off your face. My daughter is **_not_** a – _Whaa!?"_

His Na-ru pulled him from Mycal's side, sparing them both from any more embarrassment that her lifemate often seemed subjugate them both to with his chronic disorder of being far too over protective of his daughter.

As the intrusion of Mycal's sightline was thankfully removed, his chocolate brown eyes could finally gaze upon the black haired beauty of a girl up the stairs. She was her mother's daughter, with a more slender face, deep, rich green eyes, and a dazzling smile. He felt his knees go weak.

_LBD's should be illegal on women that beautiful…_

Truly, the little black dress clung to her figure in all the right places and still seemed to have a natural flow about it as she gracefully stepped down the staircase.

He mentally chuckled at that. Mar'i Grayson was many things, passionate about what she believed in (passionate in general he couldn't help but think with a slight bit of fond remembrance), a fierce fighter, a loyal friend, very beautiful. Graceful, however, wasn't one of them. He imagined the sight of her practicing her gait down the staircase and couldn't help but grin a bit wider.

She reached the bottom step, her extra year in age only allowing her to reach the boy's eyes in height. She let loose a sigh of relief, glad she hadn't sent herself tumbling down the stairs. She allowed herself a look up and down her dark skinned date, who matched her black dress with grey slacks and a black dress shirt, top button left undone. She couldn't help the twinge and shiver she felt as she looked at her date, his quiet confidence, good looks, and adoring gaze slightly sending her for a loop.

He reached for her hand, bowing slightly as he brought it smoothly to his lips, "Milady," he murmured before kissing them lightly.

Dick rolled his eyes, "Good god almighty…I _just **told **_that kid…" He muttered under his breath, dodging an elbow from Koriand'r, before retreating to a chair in the adjacent room, the couple still perfectly within his line of sight.

In spite of (or maybe because of) her father's reaction, she curtsied, "Kind sir."

Koriand'r flashed a camera at the display.

"Oh, do they not look cute, Richard?!"

Grayson scowled in his lazy-boy, watching the two while twirling a blade idly in his fingers, trying his damnedest to suppress a proud smile, "If you consider the future corruption of my only daughter something as something nice, then this is positively adorable," he said in a dry tone.

Koriand'r rolled her eyes and turned back to the couple, "You've been granted an extra hour on your curfew, Mar'i, so be back by midnight. Mycal, I trust you shall bring her home?"

Mycal had been slightly distracted. Richard had been glaring at him intently, mimicking a painful death by running the serrated edge of the knife across his throat. Kory and Mar'i picked up on his line of sight, and turned back to the man in the chair, only to see him using the knife as a screwdriver on some random piece of equipment he'd picked up at the last second, "Erm... the man told me ten."

"Damn right I did," he muttered.

Kory shot another glare at her lover before turning back to the couple, "I will do my best to keep Richard..._occupied."_

Mycal laughed and Mar'i blushed furiously, a common occurrence, "Mo-om!"

Koriand'r had always been openly affectionate and was completely unapologetic about it.

"You are not a pup anymore, Mar'i. You'll manage," she said, hurrying them out the door, "Now have a good time!"

Mar'i grabbed Mycal's hand and led them out the door, "Bye Mom. Bye Dad!"

"Bye sweetie. I've got eyes all over the city, Mycal!!"

The boy rolled his eyes, "Bye, Kory." he mumbled, getting out of the madman's presence.

Upon stepping outside, he stopped in his tracks, looking at his girlfriend.

"What?" she asked, feeling slightly awkward.

His eyes ran up and down her, a goofy smile on his face, "I really couldn't tell you before, with your dad going all psychotic on me, but _damn _Mar'i. You look beautiful."

The young girl flushed, "Thank you, kind sir," she said shyly, raising on her tip-toes, placing a soft kiss on his dark lips.

He smirked, "Which is why I'm having trouble picturing you as a pup...And I'm very proud of you! You didn't even stumble a little bit going down the stairs!"

She punched him in the gut playfully, suppressing a blush, "Jerk!"

"Aw… You love me for it…"

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I

"Just look at him. I can see those hormones raging from here. Lechery is written all over his face."

Kory snuck up behind him, placing a kiss on his cheek and a cup of hot chocolate in his hands, one of the few things that could calm him down when he got like this, "I think that it is adorable."

Richard sneered, "Vic couldn't just fall in line and have a girl. _Nooo, _he _had_ to have a son. I knew that kid was gonna be trouble… ever since he was a baby."

Koriand'r sighed, "Then please explain to me _why _exactly you insisted on training Mycal to be your successor when he was five?"

Richard opened his mouth, only to be trampled by his uncannily calm lover, "And Victor _does _have a daughter as well as a son, and Garfield and Tara have a boy also. Would you rather Mar'i date little Jordan?"

The man grimaced, the rather scary train of thought that the hero formerly known as Beast Boy could be occupying the best position of becoming an in-law plowing through the last shreds of serenity in his mind as he turned back to his only daughter outside with that damn kid, "I'd rather her be a nun… The _entire_ team of them...plotting against me, I friggin' swear."

"You are over reacting," his Na-ru said to him in that infuriatingly calm, soothing tone that she used to calm him down as she rubbed his shoulders.

He grunted, bringing his favorite beverage to his lips. He let the nectarous liquid flow over his taste buds and gave out a long, satisfied sigh, giving into his wife's ministrations.

"I'm just saying," he continued, "It doesn't bother you that our daughter is dating the direct descendant of the man who got _Raven_ pregnant? Twice! What if that kind of game is genetic?! My little girl… _corrupted_..." he sighed in near theatrical angst.

"You are being an over-dramatic matriarch. Besides, from what our little one has told me, it is not Mycal who you need be so concerned with in terms of pushing the limits of the physical aspect of their relationship," she said in a matter of fact voice.

Richard's eyes widened and the hot chocolate that had been in his mouth just a moment before spewed onto the window.

"_What?!?!_"

"Well come now, Richard," she murmured in a low, well practiced, never failing, sultry tone as she placed her lips on his neck, "She _is_ her mother's daughter."

The hero formerly known as Robin found himself torn between the mother of his child's pleasurable ministrations and the thought that his little girl might be even _half_ as passionate as Koriand'r was. He sighed, "You Tamaranian women are going to be the death of me…"

Koriand'r giggled before capturing his lips with hers, passion building quickly, just like it had their first time seventeen years ago, "Is that so?

Richard looked deep into his beloved's emerald eyes as they separated, seeing all their adventures, trials and tribulations, and for the zillionth time asking himself how he had gotten so lucky, "Yeah… but what a way to go."

Koriand'r took his hand into hers, leading him towards the staircase, "Come, Boy of Wonder. Time to earn your name."

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I_  
_

_end…thank god…_

A/N: Yeah. I know. Pretty bad/corny/fluffy/pointless. Oh well. You've wasted this much time. What's a second more to review?

Deuces


	2. Fourth Quarter

A/N: What do you get when you cross football and the Teen Titans? Yeah. I'm sure you didn't want to know…

Inspired by the recent NFL draft.

For those who are wondering what will happen to Mar'i and Mycal? Hell if I know. This is just a series of (2 for now) one-shots. We may return to them later if I'm so inspired.

Once again, I'm taking requests. Don't just say, "Do a BB/RAVEN plz!!!!!" Give me an idea, (setting, plot device, conflict, whatever) and I'll try and run with it.

Anyway, please review and enjoy!

**Fourth Quarter**

_Scoreboard  
Clock:  
00:50_

_Score:  
Woodcrest Firebirds – 28  
Jump City Titans – 24_

_Timeouts:  
Woodcrest – 2  
Jump City – 0_

_Possession:  
Woodcrest – Ball on the Jump City 30 yard line._

_3__rd__ Down. 1 yard to go._

**# 36. Free Safety**

I squeeze the bottle, squirting the water into my open, gasping mouth.

God it's hot. We don't take off our helmets during a timeout. It's one of the coach's rules. One never takes off one's helmet in the heat of battle...at least, that's what they say. It's late fall, still plenty warm enough outside to work up a good sweat. I squeeze the bottle again, letting the water splash my face as well.

I shake my head and take deep shuddering breaths.

_Come on. Bring down the heart rate. Relax the muscles. At least pretend that you're listening to the coaches..._

I hand the bottle back to the water boy. I forget his name. Some freshman, I think. Blonde hair and big bright eyes, he doesn't talk much. He'll be a good safety one day…if he ever gets some muscle on him…

"HEY!"

My head snaps to attention, which is the first sign that my head hadn't exactly been paying attention in the first place. The defensive coordinator's face gets even redder. I wince. He's gonna have an aneurysm one day…and it _wasn't_ gonna be pretty.

"God _dammit _will you pay attention?! Christ on a… get your ass over here!"

I grimace, "Sorry, coach."

He gritted his teeth, "Alright _ladies_," I roll my eyes. He _really _needs to find some new motivation. "You know the situation!" he points a slightly wrinkled hand to the scoreboard, "We got 50 seconds. No time outs! That means if they get this first down, it's over and our undefeated season slips right through out fingers…On our own damn field! We gonna let em get away with that shit?!"

"Hell no, sir!" we chorus.

"We're runnin' bear defense! Safety Stalk!" He shouts at us.

Immediately the formation comes to mind. Four linemen, four linebackers, and a single safety, me. Designed to stop the run but still flexible to protect the pass in short yardage situations, which this most definitely was. It's a good call. Not that my opinion matters much.

"Nobody gets behind you! You see a white and red jersey?! You hit it! And you do it hard!" I smirk. _That_ I can do. "Watch the hard count from the QB. Keep your eyes on the ball and _explode_ when you _see _the snap! Got it?!"

"Yes sir!"

"Line it up and break it out!"

The coach steps back and the defense comes together. We reach forward, a mass of gloved hands, scratched, bruised knuckles, and taped fingers. I feel the adrenaline start coursing back through my veins, and I can't help but feel a little giddy.

"Let's do it, D!" the Mike yells to us, "Let's get a Titans on three! One, two, three!"

"Titans!" I yell with the others before jogging onto the field. As we leave the sidelines, the home crowd cheers us on. No matter how many times it happens, it always feels good to hear the fans scream for us at home…or hear the other fans boo us. That feels surprisingly good too.

The opposition comes to the field, their red and white colors sharply contrasting our black and blue.

I take a deep breath, roll my neck around and pop my knuckles…

This is it.

I suddenly can't hear the crowd and everyone starts moving a little slower. I watch them form up and notice it's their big set, a tight end on either side, the two backs behind the line in an I-formation, and a single receiver split out to the left side of the field. I signal to the weak side corner to blitz the QB, the corner on the other side is tight against the receiver. I link eyes with that receiver. He smirks cockily. I scowl. As much as I hate the kid, I have to admit that he's good. Our corner is fast, but he's a freshman, our starting corner got hurt a game or two back. I've been trying to get a solid hit on him all night and it hasn't happened.

_Really_ frustrating…

I take a few steps forward from my normal position. We all know it's a running play. On third and one with the game on the line and you're trying to run out the clock, you don't go for much else. The quarterback licks his fingers as he moves towards the center. The crowd gets even louder. He squats down.

The game is on the line.

I'm _so _ready…

"SET!"

One of our linemen flinch, but thankfully he doesn't jump offsides. Good thing, too. I'd have strangled him.

"SET! Green 88! Green 88! Set, HIKE!"

The ball is snapped.

If you've never been on a football field during a game, I suggest it. There's something about that initial collision between the offensive and defensive lines that shakes the very ground, like ox butting heads…except nine of 'em, banging at once in a single punch. It's really amazing.

The quarterback takes the ball and goes on a beeline back towards the Tail-back. A running play. I knew it. I take my first step towards the line of scrimmage, though in all likelihood, the linebackers will beat me to the play.

Everything goes off as if in a text book. The Tailback takes a step to the left, ready to take off behind the fullback, who's already almost at the line of scrimmage. The quarterback extends the ball, a mere step and a half away from the tail back.

That's when I see it, the twist in the seemingly textbook running play, The offensive guard takes a voluntary step back, palms open hands coming up to protect his chest, a pass block.

I skid to a halt in the middle of my second step, "PLAY ACTION!!" I yell as loud as I possibly can. It doesn't account for much, since our home crowd is so loud.

The halfback opens his arms and creates a pocket while the quarterback slips the ball right into the pocket.

My eyes shoot to the left side of the field, and I watch, in horror, as our corner takes a step towards the line of scrimmage.

I curse vehemently and loudly.

The quarterback slips the ball out of the halfback's hands, just as he closes his arms around the empty air, the _perfect _fake. If I hadn't noticed the lineman set up to pass block _I_ probably wouldn't have even seen it.

My momentum finally comes to a stop and I start backpedaling. I immediately scan the field, looking for receivers. The two tight-ends are jammed against the linebackers, so they're not going anywhere. The right side of the field is clear, and the corner I sent on the blitz is, thankfully, heading towards the quarterback, not the tailback. He _must_ have seen the fake. The quarterback rolls out to the left side of the field. He's only got one option.

That cocky-ass receiver.

I swivel my hips and I'm sprinting towards the left side of the field. My first couple steps were to the right, so I'm out of position _and_ I'm just now recognizing the play. _Not_ a good combination on the game deciding play.

The corner has realized his error, but that one step he took cost him, and Cocky has a good two-step lead on him.

He breaks to his left, my right, towards the center of the field, bringing him in my direction. I'm lucky, because if they had run an out or a corner route, I'd never have caught him.

The quarterback, feeling the pressure from the corner blitzing on the other side, releases the ball early to his receiver. I'm sprinting all out, trying to knock the ball down, but I know I'm too late. There's _no _way I'm going to get to the ball before the receiver does, and he's got really good hands. He won't drop it.

The ball sails…and sails…and hangs.

It's thrown high.

A monster grin spreads onto my face. There's nothing better than a ball hanging out over the middle of the field. I'm not going to be able to knock the ball down, but I can still do what I do best.

The receiver's eyes are concentrated solely on the ball, as all of the best receivers do. It's a blessing, really. He doesn't see me coming, and it's going to make what I've got cooking for him taste that much better. I'd giggle, but I'm out of breath, so I let a low growl build in my throat.

He leaps high into the air, arms stretched to the sky and the ball sails into his open, waiting hands. He's got a huge smile on his face, thinking that he's won the game.

I bend my knees and I launch my shoulders into his open ribs, growling and wrapping my arms around him.

I pull with my arms, out bodies flip, and I _bury _him into the ground, flat on his back, knocking the air out of his probably broken ribs. The ball flies out of his hands, falling harmlessly to the ground.

I swear. The feeling is better than sex.

The crowd erupts.

"_Harper's pass falls incomplete! It's fourth down and the Firebirds are forced to punt!" _the announcer yells over the PA.

I get up off of the poor sob gasping and wheezing for breath on the ground, smirking all the while. He had this _really _annoying habit of crossing his red-sleeved arms in an X every time he made a play…which happened to be a lot during the course of the game.

"And _stay_ down!" I yell at him.

He weakly lifts a middle finger at me, coughing and still trying to get his breath back.

My smile broadens. I sprint back over to our side of the field before jumping into the arms of the big Mike linebacker. Suddenly I'm surrounded by my teammates, getting swatted and hit on the helmet and punched.

I see my sister, jumping up and down in her cheerleading uniform, clapping and jumping up and down. I point to her and she points back, a little ritual we've started.

"_A monster hit breaks up the play!"_

I step onto the empty bench and face the crowd, going nuts over the play. I rip off my helmet.

"_Delivered by Kommi Anders!"_

My long, wet, now very grimy black hair falls out of the helmet and around me. I raise my helmet to the sky and the crowd gets even louder.

"That is _my _sister!" Kori screams, pom-poms flailing madly.

I'm waving my hands around in the air, like a maniac, soaking up the praise.

"Nice shot lil' lady," says a voice from behind me. I turn to see Victor, Number 5, arms crossed and smirking. I jump off the bench straight into his arms, laughing.

Vic helped me so much. He helped me lift, taught me how to hit, taught me how to use more of my quickness instead of my strength, all the while completely unbothered by the fact that I was a…well…

"Bout time you stepped up to it, girl!" He yelled, grinning.

I roll my eyes and punch him in the pads, "I did my job! Now it's your turn, big shot!"

He smirks again, slipping on the black and blue helmet before he clicks the chinstrap.

He winks through his shaded visor, "Can do, ma'am."

I sigh, a smile on my face that probably won't leave for another minute or so. Such is the game. The feeling you get from making a good play only lasts until the next one.

I look at the clock.

_00:43_

The feeling mostly fades, the lead ball of nervousness takes its place. I've done all I can, and we still have a lot to do to wrap this game up.

Through the nervousness, I still feel a sense of barely suppressed jubilation, knowing that no matter what happens, I definitely made the biggest play of my life, right when it counted the most.

A screeching sound grabs my attention. I look down the sideline to see that the head coach is _livid,_ ripping into the corner that screwed up his coverage.

I wince. It didn't look pretty. Not at all…

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I

**# 47. Cornerback**

"_What _were you _**thinking?!**_ That _must _have been the _**worst **_play I've ever seen you make, snot! Right when it mattered the _**most!"**_

I wince. Dude's breath is horrible, and his spittle is getting _all_ over my face. The rest of the team is over there celebrating, and _I'm _over here getting chewed out by the _Head__Coach._

Then again…

"_Never, _ever, _**ever, **_leave your assignment! What rule number is that?!"

"One," I drone, a little bit squeakier than I initially wanted.

"_**What**_ was the first thing he told you before you got on that field?!"

"Don't let anyone behind y-"

"And _**what **_did _**you**_ do?!"

"Let him get behind me…"

"_What the __**hell**_, Logan?!"

I wince again, trying to fight the feeling of my throat tightening up.

It wasn't fair! It's like my _first_ starting game! And _this_ guy, our _starter_ probably couldn't even keep up with. Plus he's like, a foot taller than me! Shoot, I've got _thirty _reasons why the hell!

But…he's the Head Coach. And I'm a freshman.

And in all honesty, he's kinda scary…

"I jus-s saw the r-uh- the run coming and I f-figured tha-"

"That _**you**_ thought my defense made _**no**_ sense at all?!"

"N-no!"

"No-_**what?!"**_

"N-no, sir!"

His eye twitched dangerously, "You're on special teams."

I stifled a groan.

_One_ game as a starter and I get _demoted_ before it's even over!!

My shoulder's slump, "Y-yes, sir…" I grit my teeth. I'm _so_ pathetic.

He walks off, not saying another word.

I took a squat, supporting myself on my helmet. He was right. If it hadn't been for Kommi, cocky would have scored a touchdown and we'd already be packing up to go home. It would have been _all _my fault.

I shake my head. I was ok in middle school, but I didn't even start there. I was _always_ number 2. And I worked _so hard_ this summer trying to get in shape, but…

I sigh, "…maybe I'll never be good enough to start."

I let my team down. And we almost lost because of it.

I slip on my helmet, not wanting the world to see me anymore…

"Hey…"

I look up from my spot on the ground to Kommi, her purple eyes looking sympathetically into mine.

I clear my throat, unaware that it had been tightening on me, "Sorry. I didn't mean to blow the coverage an-"

She smacks the side of my helmet and my world goes wobbly. She AND her sister have always been eerily strong… Freakin' Amazons I swear... Like they're aliens or something.

"Gar, you're a freshman. Lighten up. We all make mistakes. I got lucky and noticed the lineman telegraph the play. That's the only reason we're not headed home right now."

I brighten momentarily…

"…Besides, he's a lot faster, stronger, and probably smarter than you. Even if you didn't _completely_ blow it, he'd have _dusted_ you anyway."

I blink...

She rolls her eyes, grimacing at her own words, "Look that didn't come out right. You're gonna make mistakes, and you're gonna keep getting better because of them, ok? Don't worry about it so much."

I sigh and nod. Even if I still feel kind of dejected, I am cheered up a little bit…somehow, "Yeah…I just hope I don't screw something else up tonight…"

She chuckles, slapping me on the back, "I know the feeling…Hey…since you're demoted, you're on special teams now right?"

"Gee, thanks a lot! I'm almost to the point where I don't wanna _kill myself_ with a cleat anymore an-"

"Dude!" She slaps my helmet again, this time in irritation, "They're about to PUNT! You're on the return team now! Get out there!!"

"GAAH! What!?!?"

"LOGAN?!?! Where the _hell _is that kid!?"

"Ah! Geez! Oh man oh man oh…"

I sprint out onto the field, chin-strap hanging off of my helmet haphazardly. I reach up with an off hand and buckle it.

I can hear the chuckles of some in the crowd as I run onto the field. A couple of groans, too…

I reach the other players on the field and take a random spot on the line. The other team is already lined up already, the punter in position and ready to receive the snap. They've got one guy split to cover the punt-returner, and the only rule I really remember from punt teams practice is that we don't **ever** double team the cover guy. I line up at an empty gap towards the outside.

The guy in front of me is looking back down the line at the center waiting for the snap count. When he looks up, his looks surprised. I don't blame him. I hadn't even been on the field 5 seconds ago.

I sweatdrop, "Heh. Hi!"

His brows furrow in confusion.

"HIKE!"

The ball is snapped. It really doesn't occur to me that I really don't know what we're supposed to do on punt return. But I do watch football all weekend. They're the pros. I'll just do what they do!

The guy in front of me is still kind of surprised I'm even there. Even more surprised as I completely ignore him, going on a mad dash for the punter.

I'm ten steps away.

The ball sails in the air, still flying towards the punter. I'm at the next line of defense, who's just as surprised as I am that I got through so easy. He steps up, swings his arms back and slams his outside forearm into my chest.

I grunt and spin from the force of the blow. It hurt like hell. It's sheer luck that he hit me with his outside arm, causing me to spin to the inside. I stumble off of him wildly, my momentum still carrying me toward the punter. I churn my legs harder.

Five steps away!

The ball's in the punter's hands, he's about to send it off. No time.

I jump, arms stretched out just like the guy on TV the other day… I remember him missing…

I didn't.

And I just might miss it on purpose next time…

WHU-THUD!

The ball buries itself in my stomach. I really don't have a choice in whether or not I catch it. The way it embedded itself in my delicate little tummy, I might need it surgically removed.

I collapse into a fetal position on the brown pig-skin, gasping for the breath that had been so cruelly stolen from me.

Only then does it hit me that I actually did something good.

Suddenly, I'm yanked up by the other members of the special teams crew. Being slapped and punched like I just hadn't had a cannon ball air mailed to my internal organs already.

As I dragged back to the bench by my ecstatic teammates, close to returning the spaghetti dinner the team moms made for us to mother earth, I can't help but wonder why I tried out in the first place.

"_BLOCKED!! Punt blocked by…by…Logan! Garfield Logan with a magnificent play on the field!!"_

…

…

Oh…I suppose this football thing has its perks.

I smile for the first time in the fourth quarter. The head coach is standing over me shaking his head in bemusement and wonder, "I tell ya what Logan, I'ma make a football player outta you yet, boy."

I grin like a champ.

"Thanks, Coach."

I don't stutter. Finally.

"Get the boy some water!"

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I

**TV Timeout. Recap.**

"_The Jump City Titans take the field with thirty eight seconds to go from their own 40 yard line. The Titans have a loooong way to go, but if anybody can lead this team to the end-zone its our hometown wonderboy, junior quarterback Richard Grayson!! He's had a spectacular game thus far, going 22 for 29 passing for 224 yards, 2 touchdowns, and only one interception off of a tipped pass, an impressive feat against the Firebirds' top ranked defense in the great state of California! _

"_He's gotten great assistance in the form of Running Back, Mr. Football shoo-in, Victor Stone, rushing for an impressive 135 yards and one touchdown on top of 107 yards receiving. He's a straight A student and has ALREADY gotten interviews from many top tier colleges with historic football backgrounds, Georgia Tech, Tennessee, Ohio State, Texas, and, of course, the University of Southern California just to name a few! _

"_This 2 headed dragon of an offensive unit has resulted in the Titans having one of the most potent offenses in the state! This showdown is merely a preview of a much more significant showdown that's destined to take happen in the play-offs! However, they're fighting for that all important Number 1 seed in the California State football tournament, that first round bye in the playoffs, and of course, that coveted undefeated season! _

"_Let's give these two teams a round of applause and get back to the game. _

"_GO TITANS!!!"_

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I_  
_

**# 1. Quarterback**

The crowd is much quieter. Still noisy, but not nearly the rambunctious cacophony that they were while we were on defense. It's a good thing. More room for me to concentrate.

The TV timeout was a mixed blessing. It's given the other team a chance to collect themselves since their last two broken plays and it gives our offense a little more time to let the pressure get to them.

The huddle is already assembled in the middle of the field. I'm still standing next to the coach on the sidelines.

"What's it look like, Grayson?" he asks me.

I shrug, "We've got momentum. They're tired, especially the secondary. They're wide open for a mental mistake. More than likely, they'll blitz a linebacker to increase the pressure. Our front five can handle 'em."

He nods agreeing, "Show it to me son." He tells me the play, and I nod, jogging out to the field.

I approach the huddle, looking directly into the eyes of my teammates. The linemen are worn out, but they're proud. They can rest when they get home. The receivers are a mix of emotions. One looks confident, while another one looks petrified, praying that I don't throw the ball his way when the game is on line. He shouldn't worry.

Victor's got that normal glint in his eyes, the supremely confident, always ready poise that I need from the running back.

"Let's go gentlemen," I tell them. I can't help but be a bit more stoic, professional in my mannerisms. Not my fault. I picked it up from a mentor of mine...

"Split loose red: 89 XP Hot Flood. On two, on two. Ready!"

"BREAK!" Hands clap and we exit the huddle. I stay back a bit, letting the formation work itself out. The five linemen line up, the tight end on my left. Two of my receivers are on my right while I've got another wide out to my left. Victor, the RB is to my right, damn near right next to me. I watch the defense set up. Four linemen, two linebackers, five backs. A Nickle package. They line the extra defensive back on the right.

Things slow down as the always seem to do as I approach the center.

The D linemen crouch down, revealing their monstrosity of a Middle linebacker. Long blonde hair, a demonic smile, and as dumb as a semi-truck.

Unfortunately, he hit like one, too.

I look to the left side of the field, and can't help but glance into the stands. I see him there under his trench coat and hat in spite of the fact that it's unseasonably warm outside. He makes eye-contact, but there's no comfort or encouragement there.

My eyes harden. He's still pissed off about the pick I threw in the third quarter. It's the main reason why we're losing now. My first interception in seven games couldn't have come at a worse time, deep in our own territory, their offense might has well waltzed into the endzone. I was just as mad about the play as he was.

I break eye contact, the moment lasts for less than second, but that can be a lifetime on the field.

We've got about 20 seconds left on the play clock.

I crouch under center.

"READY! Check 1! Check 1!"

"Jump!" the Mike yells. The defensive linemen jump closer to the middle of the formation and the linebackers creep up. The huge mammoth of a man isn't even three feet in front of my face.

There's no way we can hold off a blitz like that…

I back off from the line off scrimmage, "ALERT! ALERT!"

The Mike grins, "Oh, I'm comin' for ya, Tiny!"

The obviousness of the audible hits me like a smack in the face. I lean down to yell at the linemen.

"HOOK 9! HOOK 9!"

They repeat the call, going through the check codes at the line.

I back up to a shotgun position, signaling the play change to the receivers. They nod at me and raise their hands to confirm.

"Wall 9," I told Victor.

He grins and nods.

"HIKE!"

The ball is snapped and Victor is already headed out by time it arrives. The blitz came almost just as I expected it to, a line backer (not the outrageously huge one) and a corner shooting the gaps between the guard and tackle. The coverage was breaking down already. I side step the linebacker as he dives for me and set to throw.

_tut-Thup-THUP!_

I duck reflexively and it pays off.

_WHUMP!_

It's not the bone-crunching knockout punch that it would have been, but it still hurts. The blitzing cornerback would have nailed me if I hadn't ducked, but it's just a glancing blow. I roll to the outside and he loses his grip and I stumble backwards. I steady myself on the ground with my hand and I roll out of the pocket towards the same side Victor rolled out to. I barely manage to outrun a diving defensive end as I see Wide receiver open on the hitch route.

I square up my shoulders and I launch the ball his way, just outside of the grip the trailing linebacker that had blitzed me earlier.

He catches it and immediately laterals the ball to Victor who's running just outside him towards the sideline.

"_Oh my! It's the Old Hook and Ladder play!!"_

Victor takes off down the sideline, running like only he can.

Unfortunately, its here that things take a turn for the worse...

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I

**School Id: 271-07-8294. Endangered Youth: T. Markov.**

I'm not supposed to like football. We problem children usually aren't. Most of us, there are only like...6 of us to begin with, probably couldn't give a damn. I'm actually sitting with one of those right now, the stubborn ice princess. She actually brought one of her musty old books to the game, which is blasphemous on so many levels, I don't know what to even say. The fact that she can read those boring-ass books is an anomaly I can't even begin to try to understand anyway, but to do it at a football game?

UGH! She's lucky that we "Endangered Youth" types stick together, or I'd stuff her locker full of sand. Then again, she'd probably kill me. I've never seen her do much, but she's apparently why this whole, "Endangered Youth" program got started anyway... She's got some _bad_ people after her.

I'm getting off track. She's not important.

Now _this_ is important.

"OMIGODOMIGODOMIGOD HESGOINHESGOINHESGOINHES-!!!!"

"SHUT UP!" She yells at me, oddly standing up right next to me in the roaring crowd. Maybe we were too loud for her to read, Whatever,

Victor Stone is friggin' amazing! Right now he's sailin down the field. The defenders are swarmin' after him, but he's way too fast.

"_Some fancy moves by Grayson and Stone handles the lateral at the 50 and he __**flyin'**__ down the field!"_

"VIC LOOK OUT!!"

My companion turns angrily on me, "HE CAN'T HEAR YOU, YOU MORON!!"

"GO BACK TO YOUR BOOK!!!"

A defender flies after him, closing quickly. The corner gets closer and closer until...

"OOOOOOOOOOH!!!" the crowd erupts.

"YEAH, THAT'S MY BOY!!" I scream.

"_Goodness! Smith is clobbered by a __**vicious**__ forearm as Stone gets down to the 35... the 30..."_

The safety gets to him next, and he barely manages to hold on, barely slowing him up. Victor holds him off with his outside arm for as long as he can. It's not too long before their big-ass mountain of a linebacker catches up to him, and dives, hitting him low and finally down to the ground.

"_FINALLY brought down at the 23 yard line! 35 yard gain by Victor Stone!"_

I jump up and down like a wild woman. It's an AMAZING run! Stiff arms one guy, DRAGS another for 10 yards. The kid's a beast!!

I'm cheering, the crowd's everybody's cheering... Except Rachel...she just looks kind of sick.

"Come ON, Rae! You gotta get into it baby!"

She's not looking at me. She's still looking towards the field, a kind of glazed look in her eye.

I have a hard time reading Rachel. She claims to hate everybody, everything, yet for some reason, she's been to a lot of football games this year. True, I have to talk her into them, but that's something else, too. You don't talk her into much. If she doesn't want to do something, she doesn't do it, and if she has to break a piece of your soul in half to get her point across, she will, and won't even blink about it. I've seen this young girl make jocks, geeks, preps...hell, _teachers_ cry, and her only sign of emotion was to crack the smallest hint of a smile.

So in hindsight, I should have known something was wrong at seeing that strange, glazed look. But it took the voice over the loudspeakers to finally clue me in.

"_Oh no. Ladies and gentlemen, Victor Stone is down on the sideline..."_

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I_  
_

**# 5. Running Back.**

Pain.

Lots and lots of pain.

And in the worst place that you could have it...

"VIC!" "Aw damn..." "Victor!"

I groan. I really don't wanna hear a whole bunch of voices right now.

"Back up! Back up!"

Bodies scatter, and all the voices cut off suddenly. Someone kneels by me and automatically, I can tell its the team doctor.

"Where's it hurt kid?"

"Ugh... it's my knee man..."

"Shit..." I hear the coach mutter, walking off to the sideline.

I grit my teeth, my hand grips the grass to the side, and my fingers dig deep. It was a cheap shot and he knew it. I was tied up on top, and if he wanted to blow my head off, he probably could have, but no, the dick's just trying to end my career.

I take deep breaths through my nose. As I lay on the grass, some of the adrenaline fades and I get a better sense of what's going on in my body. The pain seems to localize and it doesn't feel as sharp anymore as the doctor works the knee. It just feels really, really sore, especially on the outside of it.

"Doesn't look like a tear... nothings broken, that's for sure, kid. It's probably a deep bone bruise. You'll be ok, but I think you should pack it in for the rest of the night."

I growl loudly, hitting the ground one time with my fist. I get a hand up and stand on my good leg. I hobble around a bit, and feel that the pain in the knee is not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I take a couple cautious steps towards the sideline as the crowd does the obligatory clapping they always do when someone goes down and hasn't died...

Yeah it sounds cold, but what the hell. I'm pissed. I didn't bust my ass for this team just to ride the bench on the final couple seconds of the most important game this season. I unstrap my helmet and slam it on the ground.

I spare a glance over at the clock.

:23 seconds. Grayson must have spiked the ball to stop the clock. That makes it second down already...

I sigh, gripping the fence that separated the football field from the track, trying to stretch out my right leg, trying _not_ to hear the cocky laugh of the linebacker in my head when he twisted my leg.

I spare a glance to the audience, angry eyes scanning over the crowd. I don't know why I'm looking for her; I never see her at any of the other games, why should she be at this one?

I bend and straighten my knee repeatedly as I cast my glance back to the ground, gritting my teeth at the pain.

I turn back towards the field, drop my weight down into a squat and raise up out of it slowly, stifling a groan at the sensation.

I drop back down into the squat and look back towards the field. Grayson is under center with two tight-ends, a couple of wide receivers, and my back-up.

He hikes the ball.

"_Grayson drops back..."_

He does a quick scan and after no more than a few seconds, he throws the ball. I wince as he does.

He throws it directly over the middle, and I turn away. I don't need to see what happens next, partly cause I already know exactly how it's going to feel.

I hear the cracking sound of two helmets colliding, I hear the groan of the audience, and I hear that same, stupid laughter of the middle linebacker.

"_Pass is broken up, Flinders with a huge hit. He's been dominating on defense today... Oh, and __**another**__ Titans player is down on the field, wow, when this kid makes a hit, you're gonna feel it, folks... That incomplete pass stops the clock with 15 seconds left to go in the game, but I'm not sure the Titans can pulls this off with no timeouts and 23 yards to go."_

I watch another teammate hobble off of the field, moaning all the while. I glance to the field, and I see him, a feral, self satisfied grin on his ugly, smug face.

I stand slowly, my knee hurting as badly as was a few seconds ago, but at the same time, not nearly as bothersome. I pick up my helmet by the facemask and brush the clinging mud from its side, revealing the blue T.

I smirk.

Slipping the helmet back on, I jog onto the field.

"_And it looks like the old ball coach is sending Stone back onto the field!"_

The coach's head snaps to attention, "What the-?!?! STONE! GET YOUR HOBBLY ASS OFF THE FIELD!!!"

I ignore him. He's cussing, but I can safely say, without ego, that I'm the best running back the guy has ever seen is his life. If this is the play thats going to decide the game, then he wants me on the field, injured or not.

I approach the huddle and grab my back-up by the scruff of his uniform. While the other players look at me in surprise, he looks at me with something akin to relief.

I look him dead in the eye, "Get out of my huddle."

He grins, and slaps me on my shoulder pads, "Kick his ass, Vic."

He darts off to the sideline, and I look at Richard, "Get me the ball in the flat; I'll take care to the rest."

He smirks and addresses the huddle, "Shotgun Ace Right: Double Robin, Halfback Jay. It's the last play, men, don't screw it up! Let's go!"

"Break!!"

The huddle breaks and we line up. Two receivers to the right, one to the left, a tight-end to the right side as well. I line up a little bit off to the side of Richard, who drops back a couple yards outside behind the center. The linebacker isn't grinning anymore. If anything, he looks angry. I guess he figured that I'd be done for the night. Looks like he was wrong.

Richard lifts his foot off the ground. That's my signal. I start sidestepping to my right.

Flinders points and pushes his partner out towards my side of the field, "Motion, motion!!"

"HUT!" I start sprinting towards the sideline, looping back a bit before turning up field.

Richard catches the snap and immediately fires it in my direction.

I catch the ball and make my way up field. The two wide receivers are setting up blocks down-field, but they can't block everybody. The nearest linebacker charges me, but his angle is off. I make a quick juke to the inside and he's sailing off to my right, not even laying a hand on me.

I'm at the 20. The cornerback sheds his block and comes at me as well, grabbing a hold of the back of my jersey. At the same time, I see a Safety running at me from the other side and in front of me, murderous determination in his eyes. I let the momentum of the corner grabbing me send me into a spin and I duck. Halfway through, I'm suddenly free as the Safety clobbers his own teammate, forcing him to let go. I continue running, ignoring the agony in my leg that the improvised spin move put me through.

I'm about at the 12 yard line when I see him again. He's got the angle, so he's catching up ever so slightly at a time.

He may have me. He's a freak display of incredible strength and speed. But he's got one thing going against him. He's not playing to win. He's just playing to take me out. I know he's heard about me. I know he wants to prove that he can take down anyone, anywhere. And its going to cost him.

He dives for me, once again aiming low, to take me out for good this time.

The 5 yard line.

I time it perfectly.

As he dives, I leap as high into the air as I can. I can even see the anger in his face even on my way up into the air. My outside hand guides his helmet underneath my spread legs. He continues to sail out of bounds, right into a nearly full Gatorade cooler that gets sticky, orange-ness all over everywhere.

I glide into the end-zone and the crowd erupts, a few helpless defenders collapsing in helpless defeat and exhaustion behind me. I fall to my knees right in the middle of the huge, blue 'S' that adorns the end of out end-zone hands raised out to the side.

I spite of the chaos around me, the cheering crowd, the yelling, over-excited voice on the loudspeaker, the moans of the defeated on the other sideline and the approaching screams of my fellow teammates, theres a calm. I take but a moment to bask in it, the electricity that one feels in the moment of victory, and sudden relaxation of the muscles one feels when something is finally accomplished. Through it all, I sense a peace, like when a warrior finally slays the dragon, sheathing his bloody sword into the Earth as a monument to the battle, a moment that is simultaneously as temporary as it's place in the Earth, but also a etching in gold, or even platinum into the very skin of the planet, never to be sullied or forgotten,

Likewise, I spike the ball into the endzone, claiming our victory and our home turf at the same time.

However, the peace ends as I am swarmed by my teammates and fans alike, but I realize, that's ok too...

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I

"_TOUCHDOOOOOOOOOWN TITANS!! I don't believe it!!! An incredible run into the endzone by Victor Stone for his second touchdown of the night as the clock runs out! Titans Win! Titans Win!! Titans Win!!!"_

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I_  
_

**T. Markov**

I'm screaming. Those two dudes over there are screaming. The cheerleaders are screaming. Everybody is screaming. It's the perfect moment from the cheesiest football movie ever. The quarterback is hugging the cheerleader, the running back is getting moshed in the endzone. The visiting team is walking dejectedly to the other sideline, eyes red and vowing revenge while nobody listens.

I turn to my friend... only to realize she's not there. She must have finally gotten sick of all the noise.

Whatever. Her loss!

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I

**Final**  
Woodcrest Firebirds - 28  
Jump City Titans – 30

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I

**To the Victor Goes the ****Spoils** (3rd Person)

Victor limped across the gravel parking lot, a bag with his books slung over his shoulder, a leg of his loose fitting sweats rolled up to make room for the ice on his knee, and a grimace that broke anew on his face every time he took a step.

He knew it was some of his stubbornness that he had to blame for it. Grayson had offered him a ride over to his car, which he declined in addition to the party invitation from the same source, as had his coach, as had a couple random kids that just wanted him in their car for whatever reason, to which he'd given the same answer that he'd given his quarterback.

No.

Don't get him wrong. Victor Stone was a nice guy. He wasn't cliquish, nor was he fake with people who were different from him. He wasn't…well he _was_ a little cocky, but not in an overbearing, arrogant, repugnant way. He was self-confident and felt he could do anything if he put his mind to it, and didn't have to big a problem with letting people know if they challenged him on it. But he didn't look down on those who weren't athletic or were nerds. Hell, as the son of a scientist and a doctor, he was a bit on a nerd, too...just one who did _really_ amazing things with a football and some cleats.

But he WAS proud, which, ironically, had a lot to do with why his knee was hurting so bad now. The doctor said he'd be fine, but he had been outrageously reckless, and his knee _**was**_ going to swell up like a balloon tomorrow. The coach didn't have much to say.

The coach was a nice enough guy, more so off the field than during a game, but he was no doubt very concerned for the health of all his players. He knew that Victor had a chance to play at the collegiate level, honestly, he'd never seen such raw potential in his life, but that would all be for nothing if he had the right type of injury in high school. He'd given him a serious talk about protecting himself during a game, but Victor was a double edge sword, his stubbornness on the field made him a nearly unstoppable, but it's something that could easily come back to bite him in the form of a freak injury.

Like now, hobbling though the rocky parking lot, each step getting harder, which would have easily been fixed by taking a helping hand. Lucky for hum, his car was right around the corner of this next building.

_Just a few more steps, Vic._

He was dragging his leg more than he was walking with it at this point. He could feel it throbbing underneath the bag of ice, doing a less then stellar job of trying to numb it. Victor slowed as he rounded the corner, leaning against the wall heavily and resting all of his weight on his good leg, setting his bag down on the ground. He took a couple deep breaths, perspiration beading on his forehead, waiting for some of his strength to come back.

"God, you're an idiot," droned a voice from the darkness.

His head snapped up. As a reflex, he pressed a button on his car keys and his car lit up, chirping back at him.

The car illuminated and a young girl sat, leaning on the hood, arms folded, purple bangs on a bemused face, black jeans on a blue sweatshirt.

He sighed, partly in relief, partly in exasperation. He groaned as he re-situated himself, straightening and grabbing his bag from the ground, "Nobody asked you."

She rolled her eyes, hopping off of his hood, casually strolling around his car. She'd offer to help, but she knew it would be no good. It'd be a cold day in hell before a lady carried a bag for Victor Stone and not the other way around, "Then again, I suppose little else could be expected from a jock..."

Victor sneered at her, limping his way around her and throwing his bag in the back seat, "And I wouldn't expect a gothic, emo chick to understand..."

She blanched in disgust, "Ugh. I am definitely _not_ emo, nor am I gothic. I'm just dark."

"No," he said, a grin on his face, throwing his door shut, "_I'm_ dark," he quipped, tapping his muscular, black arm, "You're just weird. I thought you hated football."

"I do," she said, telling the cold calculated truth.

"And I thought you'd never come to a game."

She shrugged, "It's not like I payed any attention, least of all any to you. So what if I came to this one?" she asked, lying through her teeth.

"I believe you said, 'Football is an hour-long barbaric ritual where sweaty, overgrown pigs flex and prance around, ironically with a ball _made _with the skin of another, infinitely less repulsive pig with laces through it, to satisfy their own masturbatory self-indulgence for the viewing pleasure for even more pathetic people whowish they _were_ those same pigs running around hugging each other in a glorified swine-pen, and I'd be damned if I ever squandered precious moments of my life watching such a pointless and meaningless waste of time.'"

She reddened slightly, which she did her best to hide under the guise of being surprised, "You remember all that?"

"Of course. You were calling me out in the middle of English, _**barely**_ 3 weeks ago. Not exactly something you forget..."

She frowned, "I believe the fragmented remains of your oversensitive, battered ego will survive. If you get the pieces on ice quick enough, I'm sure your fan club of the_** entire student body**_ will be able to piece it back together."

Victor grinned again, this time with a raised eyebrow, "The _entire_ student body? Does that include you?"

"I have exactly one-hundred and thirty-four more days of class in that hell-hole you call an institution of learning and the only thing that keeps me from sticking an ice-pick through myself is counting one of them off when that bell rings at the end of the day, and, of course, the abhorrent idea that your already unjustly over-inflated ego might run rampant, consuming the innocent and guilty alike," she deadpanned.

"Damn," he commented, "That's a pretty low opinion of someone..." he said, turning away from her and doing a bad job of pretending to look hurt as he stared "morosely" at the gravel beneath his feet. He suddenly straightened, "But wait!" he exclaimed, "If I'm that bad of a person, then why are you here?!"

She rolled her eyes, "Because, I can't seem to find Tara, and I figure since you already have your propensity to indulge in unwarranted chauvinistic condescension-"

("_Most_ people would call it acting gentlemanly, ya know..." he muttered.)

"-you'd be able to give me a ride."

He appeared to go into deep thought before he shrugged, "I _suppose_, though it would help you appeased my 'unjustly overinflated ego'..."

Her eyes narrowed, "Basing this on the mostly false presumption that I have _any_ interest in doing that, what would that entail, exactly?"

He folded his arms, leaning against his car, "You just have to admit that you enjoy my presence."

She scoffed, "Forget it. I'll walk," she said, already turning her back on him to walk off.

He chuckled to himself, "Figures... It's a fifteen minute drive, that's a hell of a walk."

"I'll manage. I'm not going to tell a lie so blatant and obvious that I'd hate to look at myself in the mirror again just to appeal to the jock who thinks a little bit more of himself than he deserves..."

"Uh-huh," he said, seemingly somewhat distracted. It worked to his advantage, however, as he caught her completely by surprise, grabbing her hand and spinning her around, putting her with her back on the car door.

He stood and placed his hand immediately next to the young girl, leaning over her casually, "Speaking of lies..." he started, "I saw Tara today after the game..." he said conversationally.

Rachel bit her lip, finding herself intoxicated by his closeness, but not liking where this line of thought was headed already, "Really?" she asked skeptically.

Victor ran a finger through the bangs of her hair, "Yeah, actually. She said you seemed kind of concerned when I went down."

She shrugged, appearing unaffected by the goosebumps that broke out on her arms as he inched closer to her, "It would be...regrettable if one the few people that I can stand to talk to got hurt."

He smirked, "So you can stand me?" he asked, having to try considerably harder to keep his voice steady.

She cocked her head, as if she were trying to qualify something in her mind, "Eh... most days. Don't confuse it with me actually liking you." she replied, equally nonchalantly, using an outrageous amount of effort to keep her voice from quivering as well.

He shook his head in agreement as if this were obvious, "Naw, naw, of course not..." he said.

He paused for a moment, "But then again," he said, eyes roaming over her round face, trying to keep them from falling into the traps that were her eyes and the tantalizing rise and fall of her chest as her breathing became, inexplicably, a little more labored, "She made it sound like you've been coming to a lot of these 'barbaric rituals,' and I was just kind of curious as to what sparked this change of heart."

She was losing ground, and her relative sanity, quickly. She tried thinking of a smart, witty, appropriately biting comeback, but the only thoughts she could really hold onto were those reminding her of how strong his arm felt around her waist, the heat she felt from his body pressed against hers and the sensations it sent through her, how tantalizingly close his lips were.

Eventually, she just gave up.

"Shut up, Vic," she muttered before pulling him towards her, pressing her lips into his with an unexpected urgency, effectively shutting up his mouth, but rendering his decently witty brain rather useless as well.

He responded as a typical male would, finally indulging the urge he'd felt since he'd first seen her tonight, circling his arms around her, pulling her body into his embrace. He felt her give an involuntary shudder and gasp as the curves she kept hidden under her baggy clothes molded against his muscular frame, and he felt his own heartbeat begin to accelerate as her hands interlaced along his neck.

Neither of them understood it. Both of them gave up trying long ago. It wasn't very difficult to the outside observer. Victor was not your stereotypical footfall star; he had depth, maturity, and brains to match his athleticism. She was equally, if not more, smart as he with a wealth of inner strength to boot. Rachel wasn't your standard anti-social ice-princess, she didn't dislike people without reason, admired a sharp wit, and liked someone who treated her like a person every once in a while. Victor was an all-around nice guy, and a nice enough conversationalist when she got to know him. He had the unfortunate quality of being extremely well-built, attractive, but humble about it. A girl could only resist so much...

"I don't understand any of this," he muttered before reclaiming her lips, hands now caressing the soft skin of her lower back.

"Gods, neither do I," she added somewhat helplessly, her hips pressing into his as her hands dug into his shirt, urging him closer.

He groaned in frustration at his own emotions. They'd been fine for the longest time, just an oddball pairing of close friends. He'd asked her a question_, completely _out of the blue, mind you, about a piece literature, "Nevermore," by Poe, at the local library after school one day. It divulged into a conversation and the rest was history. They'd take pock shots at each other during school, both had reputations to uphold, come to the library afterwards, and get along swimmingly.

It just so happened that one day, Victor saw how well Rachel's jeans sat on the shapely hips he'd never really noticed before. Raven had just been stretching in a chair when she saw Victor take of a sweater, briefly revealing a muscular torso that had, for some reason she couldn't comprehend, left a mark on her mind. By two seemingly completely meaningless glances, the seeds were planted, and they grew well, roots going deep into their hearts with every passing moment they spent together.

Rachel moaned as Victor's hand snaked out from under her back, using the car to grind into her. Her hands left the back of his neck and they impulsively sought out his. Their fingers laced with ease against the windows on the side of the car. Instinctively, her hips turned upwards slightly and one of her legs hooked behind his.

It was a blessing and a curse, a new wave of sensations flooded her body, her back arching off of the moonlight bathed car, but it also caused a strain on Victor as well. The young athlete's injured knee suddenly spasmed and a flare of pain erupted from the joint.

Victor groaned and, regretfully, broke away, hopping on his other leg and rubbing his knee. His sudden departure caused the night's cooler air to bathe her _unseasonably _warm body and it had a calming effect on her as well, now finally having breaths that weren't so full of his essence.

She shook her head as her mind cleared, cheeks reddening in the moonlight as her senses, more or less, came back to her, "Sorry," she said, apologetically, voice full of more concern than she'd shown all night, "I should have been more careful. I... kind of forgot."

Victor shook his head, waving his arm at her, "Naw, you're good girl. Just needs some rest, that's all."

She nodded, straightening out her hoodie and putting her hair in somewhat presentable state. She took another deep breath as she leaned back against the car, "We're going to have to... figure us out one of these days, Victor."

He gave a half sigh, half chuckle as he rubbed the back of his head somewhat sheepishly, "Yeah, you ain't kiddin' Rae..."

A silence fell over the two, before a small giggle escaped the young girl.

He raised an eyebrow, "What?"

She shook her head sheepishly, "Rae... I kinda like that..."

Victor smiled ruefully and shook his head, "It suits you," he quipped, leaning forwards and planting a chaste kiss on her forehead, "You hungry?"

She shrugged, "I'm not doing too good on money right now..." she said, walking to the other side of the car.

He shrugged, opening the door on his own side. He waited until she'd opened her door and said, "Yeah well. I'm kinda ballin' on a budget myself. My mom made some lasagna."

Rachel's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "I thought your parents were out of town?"

He rolled his eyes at the next thought, "Yeah well, they are, but for _some _reason _I_ can't understand, she likes you. She told me that you were free to come over and have some of it. She said it was for you, anyway."

She smirked, "A woman with some sense. I wonder where the genes went..."

He snorted, "Har, har."

Victor started the engine, and as he pulled out, Rachel's cell phone began to ring. She pulled it out of her back pocket, and looked at the screen.

Suddenly, she looked kind of embarrassed, "Oh..."

Victor leaned his head to get a better view, "What is it?"

"Uh, nothing," she said quickly, silencing her phone. Victor shrugged and let it drop.

No more than ten seconds afterwards, his own phone began to ring. He pulled it out of one of the cargo pockets on his sweats and looked at the screen.

He raised an eyebrow, _Tara?_

He flipped it open, "Hello?"

"_Vic! Hey, have you seen Rachel!?"_

"Rachel?" he asked. The girl in question turned to him, surprise on her face.

"_Yeah. I was supposed to give her a ride home but she was gone as soon as the game was over. I didn't even see where she went! I've been lookin' all over for her!"_

Victor's eyes widened, "_Oh __**really?!**_" he said in an inquisitive voice.

"Who is it?" Rachel asked, curious more than anything.

He turned to her, mirth all in his eyes, "It's _Tara!_ Isn't _that_ interesting!"

Her eyes widened and she immediately grabbed the phone out of his hand. She brought it in front of her, staring into it for a moment before she raised it to her ear hesitating a bit before, timidly, "...hello?"

Victor heard the screech of surprise on his side of the car, which only made his smile grow wider. She blushed as she withered the storm of Tara's barrage of questions.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine..."

-chatter-

"No, no, I just needed to... um... talk to... uh... Victor..." she said, wincing as she said it.

-another screech and then, excited chatter-

Rachel listened, listened, then suddenly blushed. She glanced over at Victor before she rested her head in her hands, shielding her face from him while reddening even more before muttering, "There _aren't_ any details, Tara..."

Victor heard a distinct, loud, _"Quit lyin'!!" _before the chatter continued. Victor couldn't suppress his laughter anymore at this point as the first chuckles escaped his lips.

Rachel sighed at hearing him and quickly ended the conversation, "Look you're wasting all of his minutes. I'll talk to you later."

She flipped the phone closed and held it in her lap, the sound of Victor's badly suppressed chuckles filling the car.

He calmed down just enough to ask after a brief silence, "So... couldn't find Tara, huh? Did you look hard?"

Rachel flipped her hood over her head, "Shut up, Victor..."

He smirked, pulling out of the parking lot, "Yes, ma'am."

It felt good to win...

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I

_fin_

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I

**Ending notes**

**Holy Vishnu. **I'd like the world to know that this all started with the simple idea of Blackfire tackling somebody and Cyborg juking the hell out of some random defender. How it turned into an 7000 word set-up to a make out scene is beyond me. Living vicariously I imagine... So much for finals!!!

I realize that I switched tenses throughout the fic. I don't really care. Just havin' fun with this one. It's Teen Titans and football, not gonna be a stellar piece of literature anyway.

Football games are hard to narrate. You have to do everything in super slow-mo for it to be minimally descriptive. I tried to help it out by changing the POV's throughout, so who knows if it worked.

Yes, I'm a Cy-Rae fan. Sue me. And no, Raven doesn't have her own part, which may seem unfair since people who aren't even Titans do, but whatever. You'll be ok. I promise.

I tried to be clever and stick a couple of people in here that you may or may not have caught. Featured in this one-shot are:

The five Titans  
Blackfire  
Speedy  
Red X  
Bruce Wayne  
Terra  
Mammoth

Can ya catch em all?!

Also, shout out to Boise State, for having the nads to use several trick plays in their Bowl Game win. (i.e. the Hook and Ladder. It's on youtube if you need a visual). As a matter of fact, just watch highlights of Boise vs Oklahoma anyway. It was an orgasm of a football game.

Woodcrest is a town that is featured in another show on Cartoon Network, the Boondocks, in which Starfire makes a (very very brief) appearance, so I figured I'd return the favor. The Firebirds is the name of a local football team around where I live, and one of our rivals, so it was fun beating up on them (again).

Hope you enjoyed it.

Go Titans,

_LHS_

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I_  
_

Next chapter: Rae comes to terms with her feelings for Victor in the most unsuspected way.


	3. Complicated Melody

A/N: A continuation of the previous scene, at Victor's house. It's pointless, as is everything in this lil story. Fortunately, it has no football references.

General warnings of OOC-ness and amateurish writing.

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I

_**Complicated Melody**_

I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I

Rae sat on the comfortable black couch in the living room, staring at the paper like one would a culprit. She shook her head, trying to release the shackles she felt on her mind, but found that no amount of movement could free her from the single subject her thoughts seemed to focus on. It wasn't that she denied these thoughts, or that she didn't cherish the fact that she was having them. Every time any wisp of a reminder about him entered her brain, she smiled in the sheer joy that she felt from even knowing him, much less to be able to share all that she did with him. The thoughts _were_ distracting, however, and they kept her from being productive. It was also not helpful that in the back of her mind, she was constantly reminded by the sound of running through the house that he was upstairs taking a shower, no doubt gloriously nude, under a hot spray of water. She bit her lip and stifled a groan subconsciously. She'd ventured to slake her more primal urges several times with Victor by now, and she'd never found herself unsatisfied afterwards. In all honesty, the love they made became more and more of an addiction every time, and it took all of her willpower not to begin the trek upstairs to join him...

She looked at the wall and blinked, nearly double-taking at the lateness of the hour. She rubbed her eyes and closed the textbook in her lap, knowing it was fruitless to write a paper on a subject that, at the time, was as interesting to her as chalk, especially so late on a Friday night.

She looked back at the blank page and the face that smiled back at her from it and felt an itch. The itch she felt when she needed to express something, but knew her mouth wouldn't be able to do it justice.

Looking at it, she sighed with a chagrined smile and twirled her pen in her hand, letting herself embrace the thoughts that had run rampant in her mind.

She let him glide about in her head, smiling in that way he only did for her, that somewhat playful yet tender grin. She smiled back at the visage in her mind and let her words come from her heart. She picked up the pen and began to write.

_if he were a color, he'd be deep dark forest green._

_if he were a car. he'd be a long stretch limousine._

_She felt their history play in her mind, the way he'd been so kind to her that was unnatural in a way, if only because she was so unused to being treated like a real person. And when she did get to know him, she was so genuinely surprised at how he talked to her with such... well... intelligence that she, quite frankly, had found lacking at her school._

_...with room for all of humanity inside._

_Cause he is so giving, and can be so wise..._

As she wrote, she noticed a simple melody of notes in the air, and realized they had been coming from her, a soft, mellow hum that had occurred so naturally with her thoughts. She reexamined the lines she'd written and noticed that they _did_ have a kind of natural flow about them, and simply shook her head and accepted it. She was no song writer by her very nature, but if this was the path that her mind wanted to take her, she'd let it.

She thought of the fairy tale plans they'd made not to long ago, to graduate and go to college in the same city... away from California, where they could be together. She chuckled ironically at the idea. She was not one to delve into fairy tale fantasies of love and absconding from home, but the more she gave it thought, the more she could see herself doing it. The thought of her being away from all of this with him made her skin tingle in anticipation. She's become so used to being around him that she found herself not functioning as well when she couldn't spend time with him for a few days, another source of mild irritation for her. She wasn't needy or clingy, as their relationship was mostly under wraps, probably not even a real relationship at that, though she was unsure of what else she could call it.

She found her next line from the game earlier that night and the fantasies he could lace her mind with...

_if he were a number, he'd be a five_

_cause he has such a brilliant mind_

Eyes looked over the last two words written and she rolled her eyes at them, already hearing his reaction should he even find out she'd expressed such a sentiment, even silently. She thought back to the night their admittedly convoluted romance began, how an innocent invitation to his house when she was somewhat in distress had developed into a not-so-innocent elope without either of them intending it. Neither were even truly aware of their true feelings for each other, outside of a somewhat curious infatuation that neither understood. They'd had a heated argument that very night, Rae insisting, quite loudly with not a small bit of anger, that she didn't need his help, Victor pointing out, quite bluntly, that she was being an idiot and needed to accept it.

_if he were an animal, he'd be an ASS_

_cause he's so stubborn sometimes..._

She laughed somewhat nostalgically at the words of the last line,

She made out the faint noises of shower-singing from upstairs and rolled her eyes. It was completely beyond her how he balanced that delicate act of being so emotionally mature about so many things and still found room for relatively infantile mannerisms like singing in the shower. But then again, it was just another way that he was so different from her, inside and out. But in those differences, she only found herself being complimented by them; they weren't things that bothered her or that she minded particularly, just simple quirks that she'd grown to love as much as his bald head.

_if he were a dance, he'd be _

_complicated like the tango_

_exotic like a mango..._

She sat curled up on the couch, knees being used as a makeshift desk. Scanning over her work in something akin to amusement. As different and unlikely as their whole... _whatever_ was, she'd never felt so comfortable in something so uncertain in her life. She knew not the method to the madness, but she didn't dwell on it much either, only enough to sometimes idly wonder where she'd be if she'd never met him.

_he's not the reason for the sun and the moon_

_he's just the reason for this little tune..._

She bit her lip, feeling suddenly timid and unsure. It was the first time she'd really thought about what she'd was about to write, whether or not she _should _write something. She recognized the feeling... being afraid of acknowledging certain emotions, that certain feelings would come back to bite her if she gave them a voice. She resigned herself to it though, figuring she'd poured her heart to this point and that it was too late to stop now. She hesitated a moment more before her pen stroked the paper again.

_because he means the world to me..._

As she finished the sentence, it was as if floodgates had been opened, words spilling from her mind on to the paper that completely encapsulated it all... him, the two of them together, the feelings that she held for him that she couldn't even begin to understand.

_and if he were a song... _

_he'd be a complicated melody _

_that complicated fellow he, _

_I almost cannot sing it on key._

Strong arms enveloped her from behind and lips planted a mark on the back of her neck. His essence was clearly distinguishable through the smell of soap. It sent a shiver down her spine. She sighed and relaxed into the embrace, feeling at home again, knowing that not one word on the parchment was untrue.

"What you doing?" he whispered to her softly.

She let loose a content hum and tossed the notebook away from her, joining the discarded textbook, heartfelt words hidden from the world, "Nothing," she said softly. Her head turned to catch his lips with hers. The kiss lingered, until Victor climbed over the back of the couch, settling in behind her, keeping her in his embrace.

"Nothing?" he asked, lazily tracing patterns on her stomach through her clothes.

She smiled, head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, interlacing her fingers with his off hand, "No... just... thinking of you."

_He means the world to me... _

_-**Fin**-_

"_Complicated Melody"_

_India Arie – Voyage to India_


End file.
